


The Wand-Fixer

by lrynt252



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrynt252/pseuds/lrynt252
Summary: Several years after the death of Dumbledore, the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix have splintered into loose confederacies, less organised under their figureheads. In the midst of all this, someone has set up a shop in Knockturn Alley catering to repairing wands, no matter the damage or the loyalty, provided questions are not asked about the fee or the expediency. In Wizarding Britain, torn by the War so much that everyone has forfeited their names for titles that belie their position, what threat lies in wait for the uncompromisingly neutral position of the Wand-Fixer, and what remnants of the past refuse to be let go?





	The Wand-Fixer

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm pretty terrible at summaries, but this is a one-shot AU that came out of nowhere and I hope you like it :)

The shop had become a place of some renown. Settled in a grimy spot of Knockturn Alley, it was nearly out of reach of the law, or at the very least it wasn’t on their radar. The Ministry wasn’t concerned about it. Not a whisper had even reached the press that people with previously broken wands – both those broken from accidents or War and those snapped on the authority of the Ministry itself – were returning onto the scene and into the fray with repaired wood, un-splintered cores and the ability to bring help or wreak havoc anew.  


 

The Order had dissolved once the Headmaster had died, now just a loose confederacy of people allied against another loose confederacy of people allied against them. It had grown so much less organised as things went on. You were either for the Saviour or for the Dark Lord, but it was much less often you were partisan anymore for sheer ideals. As the War trudged on, a few remained staunch in their loyalties and steadfast, but more and more were merely aligning with who they thought would keep their head above water that week or month. Sometimes, it was unsure who you were really for, just that you were still friendly with these three people and not these other twenty, so for now, at least, you were on this side and not the other.  


 

The Wand-Fixer had sought to even the numbers out a little. All wands were repaired for the same charge and returned in the same amount of time, no matter the damage and no matter the allegiance. If you couldn’t pay, perhaps she could be kind enough to repair it anyway (she would always say that, but there was never any hesitancy and never any doubt that she would, in fact, fix the wand and have it to you the next day).  


 

No one questioned the expediency of the jobs or the fee. She had chosen Knockturn Alley not just for its location under the Ministry’s nose, but also for its unspoken rule that questions were not to be asked. The service you wanted would be rendered, the product produced, all you had to do was pay and keep your mouth shut. At times, there would be two customers with warring loyalties in at the same time and they would eye each other suspiciously but still hand over their Galleons and their wands, never even exchanging cross words. The occasional scuffle could be heard outside the shop, of course, but what happened on the street was none of the Wand-Fixer’s concern.  


 

Then there was the day that the Lieutenant came by. She had long ceased to be addressed by her actual name by anyone that mattered, by hardly anyone that was still alive. They all had. Stealing in the shop in black smoke, the woman materialised before the till, impatiently plinking the bell on the counter. The Wand-Fixer came through the beaded curtain to the counter, her hand already out for the Galleons. She didn’t expect the Lieutenant would particularly care to chat. In one careless gesture, the Galleons were in her hand and the wand was on the counter. It was horribly splintered, obviously blasted with a spell clean out of the Lieutenant’s hand, if the slightly reddish tinge of blood was anything to go by. The Wand-Fixer took hold of the wand gingerly, examining it.  


 

“Size, wood and core?” she asked perfunctorily.  


 

“12 ¾ inches, walnut, dragon heartstring,” the Lieutenant answered without hesitation.  


 

“You’ll have it back in twenty-four hours,” the Wand-Fixer told her, turning away and glancing at her watch. Their conversation was over.  


 

“I want it back sooner,” the Lieutenant said imperiously, making The Wand-Fixer pause in her departure. Their conversation was, in fact, _not_ over.  


 

“Twenty-four hours is the fastest it will happen,” the Wand-Fixer insisted, turning back to face the other woman.  


 

“I will have it in the next five minutes or I will put you out of business,” the Lieutenant told her, leant over the counter. In a flash, her hand had slipped into the Wand-Fixer’s robes, fishing out the golden chain of a Time Turner.  


 

“Double the fee and keep it to yourself,” the Wand-Fixer told her. The Lieutenant didn’t look pleased to have more than her own terms to agree to, but nevertheless she fished more Galleons out of her robes. They clattered onto the counter, one managing to roll to the edge and clink to the floor. The Wand-Fixer tugged the chain out of the Lieutenant’s grip as delicately as she could. “Very well. You’ll have it in five minutes.” She disappeared into the back of the shop as the Lieutenant stood impatiently by the counter. Had she known she would have successfully got the Wand-Fixer to expedite the process, she would have demanded it immediately.  


 

It was exactly five minutes later that the Wand-Fixer returned with the wand repaired. She had darkened circles under her eyes and was clad in different robes than before. There were new grooves in the wood where it had been painstakingly magicked back into one piece, but they were only noticeable under scrutiny. She handed it back to the Lieutenant with the tip pointed toward herself. The Lieutenant took it from her, looking over every inch of it before training it on the Wand-Fixer.  


 

“Keen to test it?” the Wand-Fixer asked, unperturbed by the wand pointed at her.  


 

“I presume you haven’t,” the Lieutenant returned.  


 

“It’s not my place. I repair other’s wands, I don’t make use of them,” the Wand-Fixer told her. The Lieutenant flicked her wand, a Slicing Hex biting into the wall behind the Wand-Fixer, who barely flinched at the loud crack. The only reflex she had to near attacks and loud sounds was for her wand to fall into her hand.  


 

“Seems to work just fine,” the Lieutenant remarked.  


 

“No reason why it shouldn’t,” the Wand-Fixer told her, her wand still in her hand but not raised. She didn’t really expect an attack, but neither had she expected them to still be talking, so perhaps it was better to be wary.  


 

“Just where did you pick up you skills, darling?” the Lieutenant asked, leaning on the counter again and twirling her wand through her fingers. It seemed she had nowhere to be any time soon.  


 

“Tricks of the trade that I don’t plan to share,” the Wand-Fixer replied, crossing her arms across her chest. The Lieutenant snorted.  


 

“You don’t expect I’ll be a rival in the trade, do you?” she enquired.  


 

“No, I don’t. But I don’t intend to share my secrets with anyone,” the Wand-Fixer said.  


 

“Should you die, those skills die with you,” the Lieutenant remarked.  


 

“I suppose they do,” the Wand-Fixer agreed. The conversation might be over. “Have a good day, Bella.” The clear dismissal was understood as the Lieutenant straightened up, slipping her wand up her sleeve.  


 

“Don’t die yet, darling. No doubt I’ll have made more business for you before the day is out,” she bade the Wand-Fixer before she shifted into smoke, stealing back out onto the street. The Wand-Fixer gathered the Galleons from the counter and put them in the till, retrieving the one from the floor as well. Then, she went back into the back of the shop, Apparating back to her flat.  


 

Later, near the middle of the night, the bell at the shop was rung, the spells on it making it echo in the Wand-Fixer’s flat as well. She threw on a cloak over her pyjamas and Apparated to the shop, approaching the counter. To her surprise, it was again the Lieutenant stood on the other side of the counter. She pulled two wands from her robes, setting them on the counter. Each was cleanly split. They had been snapped in half. They had belonged to people who were now prisoners.  


 

“You know my stance. I fix the wand belonging to the person giving it to me,” the Wand-Fixer told her tiredly. She preferred not to aid one side or the other in stockpiling wands.  


 

“Triple the price and you can have your twenty-four hours,” the Lieutenant countered without hesitation. She pulled out a small purse and placed it between the broken wands. The Wand-Fixer had no doubt that it did indeed hold triple the fee for two wands. She looked at the purse a moment before sighing and picking it up. She emptied its contents into the till and returned the purse. Then she grabbed the wands and disappeared into the back of the shop.  


 

The beaded curtain was still slightly swaying when the bored Lieutenant plinked the bell on the counter, leaning on her arm. Shortly afterward, the Wand-Fixer appeared, clad in different pyjamas under the cloak. The Lieutenant looked rather pleased to see her there again.  


 

“Back so soon?” she quipped.  


 

“I never leave the shop unattended, you know that,” the Wand-Fixer told her irritably. She found it very annoying for the Lieutenant to have called her back so soon.  


 

“Then why make someone wait twenty-four hours?” she asked the Wand-Fixer, who pinched the bridge of her nose. She would much rather be at home and asleep than entertaining the Lieutenant.  


 

“So I can have a bit of rest. It’s better to space them out,” the Wand-Fixer explained. “That, and I’m less likely to run into myself talking to someone else.”  


 

“How long did it take you to fix those?” the Lieutenant enquired.  


 

“Tricks of the trade, not for you to know. I’ll see you in around twenty-four hours,” the Wand-Fixer dismissed her.  


 

“I could always raise the price if that will get them to me sooner,” the Lieutenant suggested.  


 

“Twenty-four hours, and after that, I think I’m done doing you favours,” the Wand-Fixer told her firmly. No comment was made on the uncertainty of her words.  


 

“Why did you do them in the first place, darling?” the Lieutenant persisted. She leant forward over the counter, seemingly eager for the answer. The Wand-Fixer shook her head, bracing herself against the counter.  


 

“Because it’s you, Bella, and I have a hard time denying you anything. I don’t doubt you’re well aware of that fact,” the Wand-Fixer said, her voice soft.  


 

“Very well aware, darling, I just like to hear you say it,” the Lieutenant returned. She reached forward, her fingertips brushing the Wand-Fixer’s face. The Wand-Fixer closed her eyes at the touch. “You could have had everything had you just not gone neutral.”  


 

“I prefer helping people to destroying them,” the Wand-Fixer reminded her, opening her eyes as the Lieutenant drew back, straightening up.  


 

“Funny way to go about it, helping people destroy each other,” she remarked.  


 

“I also help them Heal and repair and create,” the Wand-Fixer countered.  


 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” the Lieutenant allowed before she was smoke again, drifting lazily out of the shop.  


 

The Lieutenant came back the next night to retrieve the wands but didn’t stick around for a conversation. It seemed she was in a hurry and had only carved out enough free time to retrieve the wands she had paid handsomely for. Then, she was drifting smoke again.  


 

After that, though, the Lieutenant came back nearly every evening to talk about anything and everything, even if it was only for a few minutes. The Wand-Fixer humoured her if only to have someone to talk to. It was a solitary existence she lived, repairing wands. Not welcome in anyone’s house unless she was willing to declare an allegiance, yet expected to repair every wand regardless of its user. Not welcoming anyone into her own house to keep her work secret. She hadn’t seen anyone she knew outside of her shop in years. But such was life.  


 

One day, the Wand-Fixer brought her cat to the shop because he didn’t seem pleased by her constant ins and outs that day. As far as she could tell, his favourite days were when there were several versions of her in the house because then he was practically guaranteed to get petted, even in passing, and have a warm lap to sleep on. But it had been a slow crawl those few weeks and it was mostly clean splits she was repairing, so there hadn’t been very many of her.  


 

The Wand-Fixer hung around the shop that day, letting the cat sniff around the place in both the main storefront and in the back. She had never let him there before. He was looking out the window when the usual smoke spilled under the door. He turned to eye the smoke as it materialised into the Lieutenant. She caught sight immediately of the fluffy monstrosity, and the Wand-Fixer found it entertaining to watch them size each other up. The Lieutenant reached out a hand toward the cat and he sniffed at it before he sat, his tail curling around his legs as his eyes closed and he began to purr. The Lieutenant gave the cat a self-satisfied smirk.  


 

“I seem to have passed the new security measures,” she remarked as she neared the counter, leaning against it.  


 

“Not new security measures. He was just bored,” the Wand-Fixer told her.  


 

“But he’s a Kneazle,” the Lieutenant said.  


 

“Only partly,” the Wand-Fixer corrected her. “Smart enough to judge character, not smart enough to keep himself entertained, apparently.” The Wand-Fixer looked over at the cat, who seemed to have started washing himself if only to pointedly ignore them.  


 

“Sounds familiar, if the other way around,” the Lieutenant remarked, and the Wand-Fixer crossed her arms across her chest.  


 

“I judge character just fine,” she replied.  


 

“Do you know what they call you now? What everyone calls you?” the Lieutenant asked, surprising the Wand-Fixer with the change in topic. She hadn’t hardly spoken to anyone in years other than to tell the price and time range for a wand to be repaired, and the cat never spoke back. It had been over a year since she had heard her own name, but the customers were certain of her new moniker when they came calling.  


 

“I know what they call me, Lieutenant,” the Wand-Fixer replied, but it hardly dampened the Lieutenant’s amusement with the name.  


 

“The Wand-Fixer,” the Lieutenant remarked, making a gesture with her hands as if it were some grand title.  


 

“It’s unoriginal,” the Wand-Fixer complained.  


 

“It’s what you do,” the Lieutenant shrugged. “And since they already have the Wand-Maker, it sounds good.” At that, the Lieutenant gave a small sort of smile that seemed to be hiding something.  


 

“You have something to add?” the Wand-Fixer pressed.  


 

“They named the Wand-Maker, but rather we have the man,” the Lieutenant related.  


 

“First you hoard wands and now the one who makes them. What’s your end goal?” the Wand-Fixer asked. She uncrossed her arms, bracing herself against the counter.  


“That would be telling,” the Lieutenant allowed in a singsong voice. The Wand-Fixer gave an annoyed huff that the Lieutenant only acknowledged with a brief brush of her fingertips on the Wand-Fixer’s arm.  


 

“That’s how conversations work, Bella,” the Wand-Fixer told her. She was nearly tempted to smile, one of the first in a while, but then something seemed to have stolen over the Lieutenant’s features, taking with it any hint of mirth. She straightened up, her arms down at her sides, far away from the Wand-Fixer.  


 

“Just keep at it, darling. Stay busy. Stay useful,” the Lieutenant told her, her voice harder than it had been moments before. The words sounded like a warning. The change in the tide had come and things were not going as well for the Phoenixes as they were for the Death Eaters. The Lieutenant collapsed into smoke and slipped out of the shop, both the cat and the Wand-Fixer watching the black smoke disappear under the door.  


 

The next day, the Wand-Fixer had an unexpected guest. The bell had been rung, calling her to the shop, but when she got there, the only person in the shop was the Healer. She was standing on guard with her wand drawn, making sure they were alone.  


 

“What’s your business here? Your wand seems to be in good condition,” the Wand-Fixer addressed her.  


 

“Just checking to see if you were still here,” the Healer remarked.  


 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” the Wand-Fixer asked.  


 

“They’ve been rather successful lately, and practically swimming in wands. They have the Wand-Maker, no doubt the Wand-Fixer will go next,” the Healer explained, slipping her wand up her sleeve.  


 

“I’m not for sale,” the Wand-Fixer said flatly.  


 

“Neither was the Wand-Maker, but I know the Lieutenant has been here almost every day for two months,” the Healer told her, which drew the Wand-Fixer’s ire.  


 

“Why are you spying on my shop?” she demanded.  


 

“This is a War. What’s not being spied upon?” the Healer returned.  


 

“If you’d much care to send the Saviour or any of the Phoenixes, they’re just as welcome to wile away time in my shop,” the Wand-Fixer said. “I’m not for sale. I’ve just talked to someone who’s cared to talk to me.”  


 

“No one’s been free to do something as unproductive as talk,” the Healer admonished her.  


 

“Well, the Lieutenant has been, but I suspect if things are going so badly, Bella isn’t as needed,” the Wand-Fixer remarked, and the Healer blinked at her, as if she nearly didn’t recognise the Lieutenant’s name. No doubt it was easier to forget they had been sisters if the other woman had no name.  


 

“No one has called her by her name in over five years. She’s just been the Lieutenant,” the Healer reminded her, and it was times like this, as when other customers came in and spoke of no-name people, that the Wand-Fixer wondered how much things had really changed.  


 

“I often call her by her name,” the Wand-Fixer replied.  


 

“And what does she call you?” the Healer asked, equal parts curious and accusatory. Names had become luxuries for people who could get to know one another, not constantly replace each other like cogs. Worse than that, they tended to bring back memories of before the War had got to this point, of things that were gone or irreparably changed.  


 

“She doesn’t call me anything. She doesn’t have any reason to,” the Wand-Fixer said with a shrug.  


 

“Do you have any idea what goes on outside this shop of yours?” the Healer asked.  


 

“The War goes on. Who’s winning, who’s losing, I’ve no idea, but the War goes on. That’s all I need to know,” the Wand-Fixer told her.  


 

“The Dark Lord is going to win. And then where will you stand? Will you even stand? Or will you be in the dirt with us?” the Healer asked.  


 

“I’ll expect I’ll be in the dirt with you. But I will die in my shop, not anywhere else,” the Wand-Fixer declared. The Healer shook her head at the other woman’s continued neutrality. The Wand-Fixer still considered the Phoenixes her friends, but she wouldn’t take to the battlefield again.  


 

“Are you planning to tell the Lieutenant you love her before she’s set to the task?” the Healer asked quietly. It was the closest she dared get to referencing better times, when they had names. The Wand-Fixer crossed her arms over her chest.  


 

“It’s not any of your business, Andy,” the Wand-Fixer told her, earning a flinch at the name. No doubt it had been longer than five years that she had heard it.  


 

“I’ll let the others know I warned you,” the Healer told her as she made to leave. She shook her head again. “You could have had everything if you hadn’t stayed neutral.”  


 

“Funny, I said much the same thing,” came the voice of the Lieutenant as the door opened for once, revealing the woman stood in the doorway. The Healer was quick to draw her wand, but she was the only one who did.  


 

“Why don’t you just kill me where I stand, Lieutenant?” she dared the Lieutenant, who looked bored with the display.  


 

“I would prefer not to ruin the Wand-Fixer’s floors, sister dear,” the Lieutenant replied.  


 

“Then allow me to step outside,” the Healer challenged.  


 

“Of course. My business is rather inside the shop,” the Lieutenant told her, standing to the side but still holding the door open for the Healer.  


 

“Perhaps you should go, Andy,” the Wand-Fixer said, again drawing a slight flinch from the Healer. She gave the Lieutenant a last defiant look before stepping into the doorway.  


 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” the Healer said by way of farewell. Both the Wand-Fixer and the Lieutenant watched the door swing shut behind her.  


 

“What do you want?” the Wand-Fixer asked, but any sort of teasing or threatening that the Lieutenant had had died in her expression as she turned to face the Wand-Fixer, wand falling into her hand. It was the moment the Wand-Fixer had been expecting for a while now.  


 

“He’s asked for your execution, but I have to know the knowledge in that lovely little head of yours,” the Lieutenant said. Her expression was schooled and blank, but there was an uncertainty in her tone. She was stood near the counter.  


 

“It dies with me, you know that,” the Wand-Fixer reminded her.  


 

“I suppose it does,” the Lieutenant said, parroting the Wand-Fixer’s response from before. Then, her voice was small, unsure. “Could I even do it if you showed me?”  


 

“Of course you could. It’s not like I sold my soul for the skill. Just a few years of my life,” the Wand-Fixer assured her. She reached across the counter, laying a hand on the Lieutenant’s arm, the one raised against her. The gesture made the Lieutenant sigh, her posture losing its rigidness. Her eyes closed, her wand never failing from its mark. Before everything, she was still his Lieutenant.  


 

“Are you?” the Lieutenant asked quietly, barely half the question she had intended, and she opened her eyes.  


 

“Am I what?” the Wand-Fixer prompted gently.  


 

“Are you planning to tell me you love me?” the Lieutenant asked. The Wand-Fixer managed an attempt at a smile that ended up more a grimace than anything and shook her head.  


 

“This is neither the time nor the place for it,” the Wand-Fixer told her in a soft voice. “Not when the Phoenixes are spying on my shop and I have wands to deliver and none of us even have names anymore.”  


 

“Granger,” the Lieutenant allowed.  


 

“Bella,” the Wand-Fixer returned. She managed a small smile before the shop was filled with a flash of green and there was a heavy thud behind the counter and the Lieutenant let her wand arm fall to her side. She went around the counter and knelt down to retrieve the Time Turner from around the Wand-Fixer’s neck, rather gentle in her movements. Then, she pulled the Wand-Fixer’s wand from her sleeve. She stood, swiping the bell off the counter as she did. The Lieutenant tucked the pilfered items into her robes before she was drifting smoke, leaving the shop for the last time.  


 

The Wand-Fixer was found the next day before the Healer could return, noticed by one of the customers who had come to retrieve their wand. Once the rumour had made its way through the camps that the Wand-Fixer was dead, there was little guessing as to who had killed her, especially given the Healer’s notes on who had visited her shop as of late. It had been a generally neutral position, but it had eventually become a target. Stockpile the wands of prisoners, keep the other side from getting new wands or fixing their current ones, and the War was yours. And so, the War was essentially over, just a few grudges left to sort themselves out. The Wand-Fixer was buried without ceremony.  


 

The War ended to the curious exclusion of the Lieutenant. She had last been seen offering the Dark Lord the wand of the Wand-Fixer, which was promptly snapped in half once it was confirmed to be hers. The Wand-Maker was allowed to keep it, a sign of the end and a mocking tribute to his fellow fallen Wand-Magicker.  


 

“I wonder,” ventured the frail voice of the Wand-Maker once the Dark Lord had left. He had been left in the custody of the Lieutenant who would escort him back. “I wonder, did she ever share what she had learnt, the wondrous magic she’d made use of?”  


 

“Not even with me,” the Lieutenant allowed. The Wand-Maker had been visited once by the Wand-Fixer, years ago, when she had begun. She had only asked questions about one wand, a wand sold curved in the box, made of walnut and dragon heartstring, and he had known precisely the wand, soon becoming privy to her reasons for asking about it.  


 

“Was it worth anything to you to kill her?” the Wand-Maker asked.  


 

“It was worth everything,” the Lieutenant replied, and as the door to the rooms he was afforded was closing, he caught a glimpse of a gold chain, not unlike what he had seen around the neck of the Wand-Fixer on that occasion she had come to visit him all those years ago.


End file.
